New Years Day
by creme13rulee
Summary: Inspired by the Taylor Swift song New Year's / It's Yuuri's first holiday in St. Petersburg, and Viktor wants to impress the love of his life. Things don't go according to plan Part of a Live and Love YOI Bing! Prompt: Romance Beta'd by paint with words (paintingwithwords on tumblr)br / Art by ichi-ichka./ ichiichka on instagram and ichi ichka on twitter


Viktor was not a procrastinator. When he thought of something, he did it. So when he scrambled to put his Great Idea into motion, it was because he thought of it on December 26th. And not because the day snuck up on him. And definitely not because he felt spoiled on his birthday. He absolutely did not want to return the favor.

He wanted to do it ten times over. Yuuri would swoon. He would fall over himself in love with Viktor and give him that smile at midnight, and they would kiss, surrounded by glitter and champagne. Yuuri would be too happy to be homesick, and they would start their long tradition of being the It Couple of the competitive sports world.

The penthouse of the five-star hotel in the city was not cheap. But neither was an open bar, or any of guests he had invited It wasn't Viktor's first choice. Or third choice eiter. But it was available, and the glitter and candles would make up for it.  
Viktor made sure the décor would complement the outfit he put together for Yuuri. The Chanel pieces alone cost more than a month of Yakov's coaching fees, and Viktor had to make do with what he had in his closet.

It would be black and gold. Just in case Drunk Yuuri brought up "I don't feel like kissing it unless it's gold." Again.

It was going to be perfect.

And a secret.

Which killed Viktor Nikiforov. Because he could picture it, and the thought sent butterflies into his ribcage and electricity down his arms.

Yuuri had no idea. The day of the party, Viktor was busy sending off quick emails and paying invoices. Yuuri just laid on the floor, playing with Makkachin's ears and murmuring sweet-nothings in his native language. (Viktor took a video of it in between checking catering and the coat check.)

Viktor loved Yuuri in his awful sweaters and ankle-rolled jeans… but he loved the idea of New Years Yuuri even more—Yuuri in tight black pants, and one of Viktor's 2010 designer collection jackets. He hadn't worn it in years, but he desperately wanted to see the gold-embroidered branches climb up Yuuri's biceps and shoulders. He wanted to take it off.  
Viktor would be wearing a gold silk shirt that melted onto his chest perfectly.

He felt giddy. It was their rest day, and Yuuri had finally lived in Russia long enough that they were comfortable being home. No sight-seeing, no neighborhood tours. Jetlag was loosening its grip on both of them. Yuuri looked… comfortable. Their first night together, Yuuri had gone to sleep on the couch. Viktor thought he was being obvious enough—there was no extra bed for a reason. But Yuuri could clam up on a moment's notice—even after a sinful night together. Viktor could be sliding on Yuuri's wedding ring at the altar and Yuuri's anxiety still would make him ask- Are you sure you like me?

That was a part of Yuuri. Just as much as his gorgeous brown eyes and delicious thighs.

"Yuuri~" Viktor sang, leaning on his elbows and propping his chin in his hands prettily. "What do you want to do tonight?"

Yuuri rolled over on the floor, keeping one hand in Makkachin's curls. "I dunno. Whatever you're planning to," he mumbled.

"Planning?" Viktor's voice rose sharply.

"Viktor…we live together. Your apartment is what…ten meters across?"

"Our." Viktor whined.

"You're also the least subtle man I know." Viktor would be hurt, if Yuuri hadn't punctuated his sentence with a smile. His heart melted.

"The car will be picking us up at 8:45, so we'll need to be dressed by 8:10." Viktor straightened up and tried to hold back a smile and a little dance.

Yuuri squinted. "Is there a w-a-l-k time in there?"

"No, Yurachka will be coming later to keep her company. We need time for some Instagram shots."

"Okay." Yuuri said meekly. Dressed by 8:10 meant a shower by 7, enough time for Viktor to fuss at him and his hair. Yuuri had arrived with one bottle of GATSBY shampoo—which did not fit next to Viktor's line of conditioners and serums in the shower. They shared, and Viktor was careful to keep the order the same, so Yuuri wouldn't end up blindly pouring argan oil into his hair hoping for shampoo. Yuuri wasn't nearly as blind as Viktor imagined, but the the thought kept Viktor up at night.

Viktor, for once, was dressed before Yuuri. Yuuri paused mid-step, still wrapped in a towel as he realized he had no idea what to wear. Obviously, his gala suit was not an option. Not unless he wanted to look like a joke next to the beautiful God before him. Viktor looked like he was dipped in gold, pairing the shirt with a pair of high-waisted pants that buttoned up (but in reality were quite easy to take off, as Viktor had made sure to test

Yuuri gulped.

"Ah! Finally!" Viktor sang, jumping up and patting the back of the chair that belonged to a barely-used desk in their bedroom. The shower had been five minutes at most, but the later in the night it got, the more wiggly Viktor got.

Yuuri closed his eyes, letting Viktor thread his fingers through his hair. He blow-dried it after putting one minty-smelling syrup in it, finishing it off with the usual pomade Viktor used to sweep his hair back.

"Shake your head." Viktor sounded extremely satisfied with himself.

Yuuri nodded.

"No. Shake it like you're at a concert."

What kind of concerts did Russians have? Yuuri decided to picture Makka instead, shaking his head. Viktor slid a few pieces of hair back into place before he smiled, satisfied with the tousled look. Judging by the face Yuuri had made when he came out of the bathroom, he would spend the whole night looking like I'm Viktor's and Viktor is mine.

Unfortunately… Yuuri looked more Save Me Viktor that night.

The car showed up twenty minutes late. Traffic stalled them another twenty minutes. Giovanni texted Something came up, sorry. Viktor realized at 9:30 that neither he nor Yuuri had eaten for 8 hours, and caviar and small bites served on toothpicks do not make a filling meal. Yuuri spent more time trying to subtly search for the caterer instead of drinking champagne.

Viktor had been so caught up in the now of living with Yuuri that he had forgotten what it had been like when he had moved to Hasetsu- and how it would be like for Yuuri in St. Petersburg. They were both so used to international travel that getting lost a block away from home wasn't a big issue. But the onslaught of cultural and linguistic differences had Yuuri floating behind Viktor like a balloon. He bobbed his head when it sounded appropriate to do so. He wheeled through his greeting script, but fell quiet once the conversation turned away from the phrases he knew. Viktor turned on the glamour, smiling and circling the room, keeping his hand on the small of Yuuri's back.

But it wore on him.

The photographer Viktor hired (a hipster from the local university- not quite celebrity status, but he was the only one left unbooked and boasted a vintage polaroid camera) snapped pictures of them across the room. Yuuri smiled and leaned into Viktor for each one. Off the camera, the smile was gone. Yuuri picked at the Olivier salad and Viktor had a moment of panic. Had he ordered enough international dishes to satisfy Yuuri? Forget his guests- Viktor worried what Yuuri thought. Did he hate it? No matter how fancy of a cup you served it in, most of the appetizers consisted of some sort of mayonnaise salad. It was Home to Viktor, and it had been easy to request from the caterer. But it was a world of difference from the stacks of trays of osechi he had shared with the Katsuki family.

Yuuri waited until midnight. The large flat screen TV in the penthouse was switched on at 11:54, in time for the Russian President to begin the countdown. The Kremlin clock sang out its chimes, and Viktor pressed a kiss to Yuuri's lips before he could worry about what to do. (The photographer snapped a photo-as promised and paid for). Somewhere between the calls of "С Новым годом!" and the fireworks bursting in the air, Yuuri slipped away.

The party had only just started, but it was over for Viktor the moment he realized his hands reached out for someone that wasn't there.

However, Yuuri was Yuuri.

Viktor found him sitting in a corner of the bedroom, peeling a mandarin orange, his shoes and socks kicked off and his slacks rolled up above his ankles.

"Yuuri, there's a whole King sized bed," Viktor tried to even his tone. Yuuri was breaking off the skin of the fruit in tiny pieces smaller than his thumbnail.

He tried to hide it, but you can't hide everything from someone who loves to study you.  
"I didn't want to mess it up and get charged for it." His voice was quiet.

"Don't be silly, Yuuri, we have the whole floor until noon." What kind of parties had the love of his life been to?

Yuuri's expression darkened, and he slid his feet closer to himself, folding up.

"Yuuri, whats wrong, zolotse?"  
Yuuri's nose wrinkled in a bit-back smile. Of course, Viktor would call him my gold and dress them like this.

"I wanted to be on the bed with you." Yuuri muttered. The fruit in his hand was getting destroyed.

Viktor cooed, sinking down on the edge of the bed. "Well, I'm right here."

Yuuri squirmed. Viktor offered his best understanding smile. He felt like screaming. He was imagining dancing in the street to a live band, drinking even more until Yuuri hung off of him. Not the smell of citrus and anxiety.

"No. Just you. And me, on the bed. Together." Yuuri finally looked up at him, and Viktor felt his heart squeeze just like it had during Yuuri's first perfect Eros routine.

"Like I said, I'm right here," Viktor hummed, sliding onto his side of the bed.

Viktor had toed the line too far, and Yuuri bristled.

"No! You have, like, fifty people out there!"

"But you're the only one that matters." Viktor was tempted to pout, but he bit his lip instead.

"You can't just leave a big event like that! I mean, you planned it, and you just walked off!" Yuuri waved his hands as he talked, the orange forgotten at his feet.

"You left too." Viktor sat up, before sinking down to the floor next to Yuuri.

"I- I'm sorry. I needed a break, and you seemed busy with your.. Uh…" He took a moment, the champagne going to his head "Aisat… gr...greetings, I didn't think you'd notice."

Viktor's stomach dropped as he bumped knees with his fiance. His eyes stung, but he was well practiced with keeping it in check.

"...how can I make you happy?"

Yuuri fidgeted, only getting more and more agitated and anxious before him.

"No no no!" He sang, washing Viktor over with a sense of deja vu. "I'm happy, I promise!"

"You don't look like it." Viktor couldn't help but let emotion leak into his tone. The party was a failure.

"No, I am… I really like Viktor's New Years…" Yuuri trailed off, his voice dropping in volume as he leaned into Viktor. "I just...wanted more Viktor."

"I'm right here! I tried to make it big and important for you!" Viktor bit out, before reaching out and pulling Yuuri closer. It was awkward and uncomfortable, the floor too hard and the corner too cold. But it didn't matter.

"I know, and that's why I'm trying." Yuuri's voice warbled with his own held back tears. If one of them started crying, they both would.

"What do you want? I can do that." Viktor felt like he was a broken record. How could he be more himself? Yuuri had been the one who left his side, not him.

"Nothing!" Yuuri snapped, wiping his nose on the back of his hand, narrowly missing the expensive sleeve. (Though truthfully, Viktor would ruin a hundred designer outfits on Yuuri)

"I want your midnights, and your New Years day, and your four o'clocks, Vitya, I promise," Yuuri's voice broke on his name. "There's way too many people and I'm scared I'm gonna knock over a candle and set everything on fire, and I don't want to embarass you. There's glitter everywhere and I'm itchy and I don't look half as good as you do-"

Viktor pressed a finger to Yuuri's lips.

"You look twice.. no , a hundred times better than I do."

Yuuri didn't fight, but his look said enough.

"There's about twenty minutes until everyone leaves. You can go and get undressed and wait for me."

Bits of gold glitter hung in Yuuri's hair. Viktor didn't think about it, but the body glitter he put on earlier had rubbed off on Yuuri's neck and wrists. He glowed even without a wrapping of gold.

When the last guest departed, Victor found Yuuri on the bed.

"We didn't bring anything else to wear," Yuuri murmured, dropping his phone onto the bedside table.

Viktor flushed. He had planned everything, except that. Their suitcases sat at home, holding their team gear and not much else.

img src=" . /18079b2f5c3b3648c8c58a382ded9c6d/tumblr_p7ra6q3KDb1u04o9yo1_ "

Yuuri sat up, the hotel bathrobe untied and falling open, exposing his delicate collarbone and bare chest. He reached out, threading his hand into Viktor's and pulling him into bed.  
Viktor didn't feel like letting go. And he didn't, even past noon when he dragged Yuuri out of the bed and into a taxi, or when Yuuri fell asleep on the short ride home. He squeezed his hand, trying to stir him awake. But Yuuri only pushed closer to him. Viktor melted, handing the driver an extra trip for the time that it took them to drag their feet onto the pavement.

Viktor could plan months ahead, or days ahead but there was one thing that always stayed the same.

Yuuri would always remind him what really mattered.


End file.
